


Soup and Sick Days

by misura



Category: Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2005)
Genre: Community: springkink, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-01
Updated: 2012-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 16:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Isn't that how it usually works? Someone gets sick, you bring them soup, they get better?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soup and Sick Days

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: _Perry/Harry: sick day - The soup was a family recipe but he knew his family never would approve of what they did after eating._

"A family recipe," Perry repeated, sounding incredulous, which kind of hurt Harry's feelings, really, it did, because here he was, showing up to be a good ... friend, employee, boyfriend, whatever, and here was Perry, refusing to take Harry's word at face value.

You'd almost think Perry had them lining up outside his door or something, which - going by a quick but discrete glance out of the window, he didn't. So there. Harry was awesome, Perry was a whiner, business as usual.

"That's what I said, didn't I? A family recipe. I'm sorry, did I slip into Chinese again? Because I do that sometimes - or so people tell me, obviously, I don't notice myself, but with Chinese being my first language and all, I suppose it's very well possible it happens."

"And people actually _get better_ after they've eaten this?" Again with the doubt. Although, to be fair, Harry hadn't actually gone into the many beneficial qualities of the soup. It hadn't really seemed considerate, what with Perry being the way he was - talking to the sick guy about healthy people: always a no-no. Or so Harry'd been raised to believe.

"Now _that_ , I don't know about. I mean, I guess so. Isn't that how it usually works? Someone gets sick, you bring them soup, they get better?"

Perry closed his eyes. In delight, at the taste of the soup. Maybe. Probably not.

"In this case, pure coincidence. Or possibly a miracle."

Harry considered. "Well, it's true some of my folks were pretty religious. Are pretty religious. I mean, praying and, well, praying. That kind of stuff. Aunt Irma has set up a sort of lobbying campaign for me, which is nice, I guess, except that I'm not sure it's really supposed to work that way. I mean, you just bother God often enough and he says, sure, all gay people go to hell, but this one time, I'll make an exception, because anything's better than listening to you go on and on about this - congratulations, you win, now please go away? That's just crazy, right?"

Perry sagged. "Please. Go. Away."

"Exactly. What did I tell you?"

"I meant you."

"Oh." Tired, of course. Harry should have seen it coming, really, and anyway, whatever Perry had was probably contagious, so it was just as well. "Okay."

 

"You know, I've been thinking."

"Good god, are you all right?"

"Maybe I could, you know, take one of your cases." Perry'd been right that first time they'd met. Or, well, he'd been wrong - dead wrong, in fact. "An easy one." Generally speaking, though, he'd been right. Being a private eye wasn't difficult.

"I'm out of the office for _two days_ and you start getting all these crazy ideas."

"Also, I brought soup."

"Family recipe again?"

"Other side of the family. My dad's, if you really want to know."

"The one who ... "

"Yeah, that's him." Getting Perry drunk seemed a bit of a cheap trick, although, really, it wasn't as if Harry was planning to take advantage or anything - well, not too much, anyway. Little bit, maybe.

Perry sighed. "Remember that medication I'm taking?"

"Sure," Harry said - he might not remember the exact _name_ or dose or anything, but he'd spotted the bottle of pills, yes. Not little blue ones, which was good; clearly Perry had no worries there, even if it had been two days now. "Oh. Can't take them together with alcohol?"

"Idiot," Perry said, but he sounded sort of affectionate. Maybe. Same as usual.

"Really sucks to be you right now, huh?" Two days without sex was fine - well, no, it wasn't, but he'd gone for two _months_ without (or heck, probably even _two years_ , and he didn't mean back when he'd been like, five years old or so, that was just sick - he meant as a full-grown, sex-wanting adult. Two years. He must have been a fucking saint or something.

Two days without alcohol was hell on earth. Small wonder Perry's expression seemed stuck on 'not that happy to see you'; guy was probably dying for a drink, and along comes Harry with the stupid family recipe for soup that's mostly wine with, well, more wine.

"Yeah," Perry said, and Harry nodded happily; they were cool, was what Perry said. He hoped.

 

"I don't believe it," Perry said. Three days and counting.

Harry had decided that shower fantasies didn't count as cheating as long as your fantasy involved the person you were currently not having sex with, because they were out sick. "What?"

"This soup. It actually tastes ... kind of good. And you made this?"

"Four hours in the kitchen. You're welcome."

Perry was looking skeptical again. Also: like he was really enjoying the soup, which was super, fantastic, good to know he'd finally gone and gotten it right. Pity he hadn't known two days ago.

"Where'd you get it?"

"I cut all the vegetables myself," Harry said. "See? That piece of ... whatever, the green stuff? I tried cutting it into the shape of a P. For Perry."

Perry didn't even bother to look. Asshole. "You bought this somewhere."

"No, I did not," Harry said. "I may have exaggerated slightly about the vegetables - fine, you caught me, let's hear it for the great detective, but I swear to god, I did not buy that soup."

Perry scoffed. It was a good scoff - no sign of being sick at all. "So, what? Someone gave it to you? It was a freebie?"

If Harry played his cards right, he figured he might get laid tonight. Today, this afternoon, whatever.

"Yes, actually. To that last one."

Perry gave him a long look. A _penetrating_ look, almost, one could say, except that Harry wasn't going to say it that way, because then before you knew it, his mind'd be in the gutter and then Perry, being Perry, would kick him out again and laugh at his suffering.

"You _stole_ it? You fucking _stole_ a _can of soup_? Are you fucking crazy?" Perry actually got up a bit - blankets slipping and everything. "No, don't answer that, of _course_ you are fucking crazy."

"Crazily," Harry said. "It's an adverb, see? Crazy's an adjective, and since, obviously, what you're trying to say is that sex with me is fantastic, the best you've ever had, so you should definitely use an adverb there. Otherwise, you're just saying - well, I don't know what you'd be saying. But it's not grammatically correct, and my boss has taught me to be pretty anal about those sorts of things. Sorry, I meant prettily. There, see? Even I do it sometimes. And, honestly, I thought it was kind of romantic."

"Getting thrown into jail for stealing a can of soup?"

"Hey! That'd have been if they'd caught me. I'm a good thief, all right? Well, no, not a _good_ thief, obviously, since stealing is supposed to be bad and all that, but I've got skills. I'm a pro. Could have been a pro. If I'd wanted to."

Perry glared at him some more. Or possibly he just had a really bad headache, but Harry hoped it wasn't that; everybody knew what headaches meant vis-á-vis one's chances of getting laid, and he really felt he deserved better, what with having gone through all that effort for a can of soup.

"I thought we could, you know. You get mad at me for stealing again, I apologize by giving you a blowjob, and then we have make-up sex." Still glaring. "It sounded pretty good in my head."

"You're not giving me a blowjob," Perry said. "You really think I'm going to let you bite my dick just so I can get a sloppy blowjob?"

"One time. One time, and you hold it against me for ever and ever and ever. How about the make-up sex, then? Can we at least have that? Or just 'I'm mad at you for stealing a can of delicious soup' sex, whatever works for you. Just, you know, _something_. I'm dying over here."

"Fine. I hope I infect you."

"If you do, you'll come and make me soup, right?"


End file.
